Genesis
by Wunderkind4006
Summary: In the aftermath of the destruction of Dol Guldur, an unspeakable tragedy and crime is discovered - Elves, tortured and twisted by servants of Sauron. One brave survivor seeks a fresh start in Legolas' new Ithilien, but does she have the strength to survive this strange new world alone...or do we all need someone to lean on? LegolasXOC post LotR
1. Prologue

**After many years...I have eventually attempted a LegolasXOC fic...or Legomance. This is for those that requested me to write a Legolas fic and for all the Leggy lovers in general. Please enjoy, read, review, etc...because I am quite unsure about this as it is a new venture...eeepp.**

 **Synopsis: In the aftermath of the destruction of Dol Guldur, an unspeakable tragedy and crime is discovered - Elves, tortured and twisted by servants of Sauron to try and create a new strain of Orc. One brave survivor seeks a new beginning in Legolas' new Ithilien, but does she have the strength to survive this strange new world? And when tragedy strikes the royal family, does she have the courage to aid them?**

 **Disclaimer - all rights belong to the master Tolkien - I just own the the plot and my OCs.**

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Prologue

There were cuts on her wrists, and scars on her ankles. Bruises decorated her face - horrifically beautiful patterns like splatters of black and green. The terror that lay in the depths of her young eyes was so distressing that her saviours could barely look. She was the youngest they had found, barely of age, a child to her kin. She was small and frail, her bones like that of a little robin, malnourished and frozen in fear.

They had carried her home, for apparently she had a home. They called it the Woodland Realm. She remembered it vaguely, or at least she felt she had dreamt it but it had been so long since she had anything but her dreams to cling to. It had been a long time since she had seen the sun and the sky, or the trees and the leaves, or the smell of pine, or even the feel of a breeze on her deadened limbs. It had been so long since she could even recall her own name, or the sound of an elven voice not broken by the darkness. It had been so long that she had nearly forgotten what she was. She had been nothing more than a pale light in the dark for so long, just a whisper in the endless night, only a little bird to chain up and choke until it couldn't sing anymore. That is what they did in that place, that stone fortress shrouded in nightmarish shadows, they choked the goodness out of things until they shrivelled into nothing but ghoulish shadows themselves. But there is always a little light in the dark, and if one withstands it long enough, if one hopes beyond hope itself that one day the light will come back…then it just might.

Light had come. It had come in the very hour of her last despair. Her eyes had dimmed, her veins began to run with the cold ice that they had so often tortured her with, her voice had disappeared into the air and no hopeful song was formed on her cracked and bleeding lips. But then the light came, in all its harshness. It blinded her and made her spirit scream in agony. It burned her greying limbs and sliced through her like a white hot flame, licking away the coldness with a fierce heat. The light had brought the hope of life and a new beginning, but was she strong enough to hold on to it, or would it simply finish what was left of her? At this precise moment she wasn't so sure? Either way it felt utterly incredibly to feel anything other than emptiness, even the disorientating pain was a welcoming relief. If she was to die now then she would be grateful to have at least lived long enough to see the light once again.

Suddenly a hand formed around hers, and she marvelled at the touch…she had forgotten touch. She felt her lips quirk, and again she was astounded to be reminded of her body, of her skin…she was still whole. The hand was warm, and with this comforting warmth came a voice, a voice that spoke kindly to her…someone acknowledged her like she meant something…she felt hot water drip down her skin from her blinded eyes, it was tears, she was crying;

"Breathe the free air little one…it is over."


	2. A Beginning

1\. A Beginning

"Good morning your highness! And it is such a good morning indeed…but you would not know cooped up in here?"

There was the whoosh of doors banging, and the quite alarming sensation of bright morning light slapping the Woodland Prince with all its joyful force. Legolas felt his brow crinkle in agitation, he had been enjoying the peace of darkness, he seemed to rest better that way. Grumpily he shuffled up the bed and glared disapprovingly at the elf his father had appointed as his personal servant…Rosson. The overly chirpy ellon pranced about the room with a gaggle of well disciplined servants, all attending their morning tasks with such speedy efficiency that it was giving Legolas a headache just to watch. It was much too early for this level of activity.

"Good morning Rosson," Legolas sighed as he slinked out of the invitingly warm bed, hesitating as his toes brushed the freezing wood. _Oh_ , it was awfully cold!

Legolas resisted every urge to not just scramble back under the toasty warm covers and ignore the days demands, but alas the newly appointed Lord of Ithilien would have no such luxuries…at least not with an elf like Rosson running his life to military precision.

"Just so you are aware my lord, our guests arrived some time in the early hours of the morning," Rosson told Legolas with that ever professional voice, as he assisted in laying out the Prince's clothes and other such toiletries. The panicked and entirely distressed look that flooded Legolas' features was enough to alert the experienced servant that this was not a desired situation.

"He is here! He is here and you did not think to wake me?" Legolas hissed and launched into a flurry of dressing, that would have been comical if not for the furious look etched on his fair elven features which were usually relaxed and of a merry deposition, but not when it came to his father.

"His majesty requested that I let you rest, he was quite adamant my lord," Rosson interjected quietly, raising his hands to pacify his highly strung master. "It is alright, I have attended to everything and have arranged a private breakfast for you and your father…at his request of course."

"Wonderful," Legolas groaned as he speedily braided his hair, and reached for his boots. Yes, he was a lord of his own land and people now, but he was still terribly uncomfortable with all the pomp and stylings that came with his title. He would never be his father, he would never feel at ease in fine clothes or intimidating crowns. Legolas still preferred the feel of a knife at his hip, and the familiarity of a bowstring in his calloused fingers and he doubted that would ever change, something he supposed his father would find fault with no doubt.

"My lord…where are you going?" Rosson queried timidly as Legolas stalked past him and out the door of his newly emerging treetop home.

"To greet our honoured guest," Legolas replied as he quickly and easily descended the curling staircase that lead down from the beautiful treetop structure. He faintly heard the sigh of his servant and suppressed a smirk, it was no secret that the relationship between he and his father was often complicated and most elves knew better than to involve themselves in that complex dynamic. Rosson was no different, it was an argument he was happy to leave well enough alone.

It was a lovely morning indeed, the winter sun seemed strong in the sky, and although ti was cold there did seem to be a pleasantness to the crispness. Instantly being out in the open air lifted Legolas' mood, and he found his irritation from his rude morning wake up call ebbed away by the time he reached the main halls of his slowly emerging elven city. Well, 'city' was maybe slightly adventurous. It was maybe more like an eccentric little town, slowly rising out of the woods like a homely sanctuary for all of his kind.

The trees housed most of the private homes of the inhabitants, which were mixture of his own kin and handfuls of elves of different heritage seeking a new beginning in this new and glorious age. However, with all this mixing of cultures Legolas had wanted to ensure a familiarity for all in the dwellings and homes that were constructed, and he also discovered that not all races liked to climb trees…namely dwarves. So his main halls would be constructed from the rocks and bare bones of the fair dwellings that had existed in ages past. Thus far, with the master skill of a certain dwarf, Legolas had successfully brought into a fruition a wonderfully crafted building with immeasurable space and rooms, housing all sorts of gardens and courtyards, were it was his hope he could entertain all of his newly made friends, and each would feel happy and comfortable in his home with his people…he would not continue this absurd isolationist policy of his forbearers.

It would be in the back of this incredible structure - which was testament of the combined effort of both elf and dwarf skill - that Legolas was certain Rosson had housed his father and his entourage. It was the only part that was even remotely finished and fit for royal guests, and there was none as finicky about his comforts than Thranduil. Scurrying along the mosaic gold and silver flecked floors, Legolas found the East wing with ease and found he was right to assume his father had now taken up residence there.

The ElvenKing's favoured guards flanked the oak doors that would led to the main guest apartments, there was two crates of his favoured wine deposited by the door, and Legolas could smell fresh pine on the air. Yes, his father was truly here and making his presence known as usual. With a little shrug of his shoulders and settling breath, the prince approached the doors, bowing in acknowledgment for the guards. The one to the right snapped his head to the side and briskly rapped the wood thrice, alerting the occupant to his arrival. A little part of Legolas was slightly irked that even within his own realm his father still managed to hold an aura of greater importance, like he was somehow not the guest but a cofounder in all of this. A few minutes past before the door creaked open and an unfamiliar head poked around the heavy doors.

It was an _elleth!_

Legolas stared in shock at the relatively innocent looking maiden in his presence. Her wide charcoal coloured eyes - too dark a grey for any Sindar - moved over him with such uncertainty, that if Legolas didn't know any better, he'd assume she was not trusting of him. Why was there an elleth serving his father in such a private capacity, and where was Galion? Never in Legolas' long life had he known his father to have any other but his trusted butler to serve him in his own private quarters. This was most bizarre!

"My Lord Legolas?" The elleth questioned seriously, like she honestly had never laid eyes on him before.

"I am here to greet the King, if he is decent," Legolas muttered out, trying vainly to keep the confused shock and intrigue from his features. Was this elleth a friend? A pretty friend to keep a lonely King company? Legolas felt his jaw clench and his teeth grind, the thought was not a welcome one.

"Oh, oh yes my lord," the elleth curtsied deeply and helpfully held the door back for her superior. "My apologies, I-I-I am only learning. I-I-I…um…I was not sure what you would look like."

Legolas observed the considerably smaller maiden with complete bafflement. He felt his mouth open to articulate some sort of reasonable response, but the inadequacy of this elleth was astounding. Stuttering and blushing like a chilld, he had never known his father to tolerate such incompetent behaviour from any of his servants, Valar knows Thranduil barely tolerated incompentancey in his son let alone anyone else. This was very strange, something was clearly going on.

"Yes, well now you know," Legolas replied coolly, because he really had no other response, and resolutely he turned his gaze from the elleth and strode off in the direction of a crackling fire. Whoever she was he was, he was certain she was of little consequence to him. For the most part he was more concerned about Galion's welfare, it seemed very unlike him not to accompany his King? Abruptly the prince considered that the long standing friend of his family could have left these shores, and yet again Legolas felt that pang for the sea and his heart became restless again.

Rounding the corner of the main lounge Legolas was assaulted with the choking warmth of the fire, and the overpowering scent of roses, and suddenly the Prince was not so saddened. A wide deliberate smile spread across his face when he heard the soft footsteps of someone approach from behind;

"Is that my little leaf?" A gentle feminine voice rippled across the quiet morning air, the silky warmth of its tone kindling a great joy in his heart, almost instantly silencing the confusing desires in his spirit for the unseen.

"Orophiel? What are you doing here?" Legolas practically sang in his delight as he spun and launched across the distance to embrace the willowy, silver haired elleth, before him. "I thought you said you were to visit kin in the Havens in your last letter…I thought for sure Lord Cirdan would talk you into leaving us."

"Contrary to popular belief young sir, I am not actually close personal friends with good lord Cirdan, regardless of what your Adar tells you," The elleth smiled warmly at her nephew, her grey eyes sparkling joyously as she ran a long and delicate finger through the ends of his hair. "Besides, can I not pay my handsome and celebrated nephew a visit once in a while, without it being considered suspicious?"

"I never said it was suspicious," Legolas chuckled and tilted his head questioningly to the side, "but certainly unexpected…did Ada insist upon this again?"

"No, for once my brother is not insisting I help mop up his parenting fiascos," Orophiel laughed lightly, giving Legolas a knowing look. Since his mother's death Orophiel had been the only maternal figure in the young Prince's life, helping to navigate the often tumultuous relationship between father and son as best a childless Aunt could in such heart breaking situations.

"Well, for whatever reason I am delighted to have you here my beloved Aunt," Legolas grinned, and lifted Orophiel's hand to press a chivalrous kiss to the back of it.

"Always a charmer," The elder elleth tutted, raising an eyebrow playfully, "just like your father."

"Ai! I find that hard to believe, the only thing he could charm is a himself after a keg of dorwinion," Legolas harrumphed as he sprawled himself over the nearest settee by the suffocating heat of the roaring fire. "Where is the old toad anyway? Brooding in his bed chamber?"

"Oh, you are so hard on him Legolas," Orophiel chastised and rapped a warning finger on her nephews shoulder. "He is resting after such a long journey, you know how he is…he does not like being parted from his woods. Although I am sure he is probably awake by now," Orophiel paused for moment and tapped her chin, before twisting her head towards the door and beckoning with her other hand; "Lainiel, darling child, will you go fetch my brother and tell him his son has come."

Legolas felt his gaze drift over the top of the velvet sofa until it rested on the red haired servant from before. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, not only was this little elf on such casual terms with his Aunt - the Princess Royal of Eryn Lasgalen no less - but clearly his notoriously private father had no problem allowing such an inexperienced youth attending him.

"Yes ma'am," The young elleth answered and knelt into a little curtsey before darting off to do Orophiel's bidding.

"Such a sweet little dear," Orophiel mused aloud as she cast her eyes over her nephew again, noting his calculative expression, "do you not think so?"

"I assume so," Legolas replied with a frown, as he met his Auntie's amused eyes; "Where is Galion?"

"Keeping the King's affairs in order whilst he visits with you," Orophiel answered sweetly as she nestled herself down into a comfortable armchair facing her nephew, and steepled her fingers in the exact same fashion his father did when something was afoot.

"And this Lainiel is his replacement?" Legolas prompted, his lips forming into a tight line, as he considered all the reasons why his father would entertain an elleth, for the first time in an age since his mother died.

"No," Orophiel answered honestly, her features suddenly becoming grave and a haunted look swept across her usually bright eyes. "Legolas…your Adar…well it is hard to understand. He is terribly fond of Lainiel, he has taken a particular interest in her."

"Is this some kind of joke," Legolas heard himself growl, his fingers curling tightly around the arm of the settee. "Are you telling me he has a fancy for an Avari maiden? Some pretty little youngster has helped ease the pain of his loneliness?"

"Legolas!" Orophiel gasped in disbelief, her eyes widening in shock that he would have construed her words in such a way, but before she could rectify the situation a stern voice reminded her to still her tongue.

"Sister…you will leave us," Thranduil's hard voice bounced off the walls in a resounding echo, and as the great ElvenKing elegantly strode into view, his younger sibling rose from her seat and bowed graciously before leaving the room promptly, her eyes downcast and face expressionless - for it was not customary for many to argue with the King, not even his family.

"Good morning Adar," Legolas greeted stiffly as he rose to stand for his King…something he had been expected to do since childhood. "It is wonderful that you have come, I have missed you," the words were empty and cold on his tongue, meaningless in truth.

" _How dare you_ …" Thranduil paused by his son, his voice suddenly as rough and as bleak as Legolas had only ever known it. He heard the sting of pain there, and in his cowardice the Prince dropped his head and refused to look into the eyes of a broken spirit.

"My apologies I just assumed when Orophiel said you had affections…" Legolas mumbled over his words, realising how much of the conversation his father would have heard…he instantly regretted it. It was such a stupid childish fear he had always held, a fear that his father would forget his mother, for he never spoke of her…not once. If the elf was being honest with himself he would have admitted that his true fear was that his father would forget him, just like he appeared to forget his mother.

"You assumed wrongly," Thranduil bit harshly, as he caught his son's chin between his thumb and forefinger and titled it upwards so their gazes met for the first in such a very long time. "Your Naneth," his father stammered, his breath hitching slightly at the mere mention of her memory, "Legolas…I harbour no such affections for any other…do not mistake my silence over her as disregard."

"Yes," Legolas answered almost instantly, his face crumpling in the realisation of his stupidity. "I am sorry, I have just never seen an elleth who is not family, in your presence…I was shocked…you have changed so much since my return. I hardly know what to expect off of you nowadays?"

"And you have not?" Thranduil tactfully changed the subject as he glided to the fire, leaning his hand against the mantle as he stared pensively into the flames. "As far as I see it, we seem to be gradually morphing into each other. Here I am investing my emotions into senseless causes and journeying far from home in search of myself, and here you are, lord of an emerging land with the weight of responsibilities and expectations on your shoulders…how very strange it is, like time seems to bring about famialr cycles. The old become the young, and the young the old…don't you think so?"

"I think you are talking in riddles again Ada," Legolas answered with a half laugh, almost relieved that he would not be on the receiving end of one of his father's legendary sulks. "So, if you cannot answer me plainly regarding yourself…then why the interest in the Avari girl?"

"She is one of them _ion-nin_ ," Thranduil answered with a heavy sigh, his shoulder sagging under another tremendous guilt. Legolas had never understood why his father seemed to be so weighted, so troubled by even the slightest of whisperings of darkness, but that was until he himself had stood overlooking the Black Gate of Mordor. Having survived the evil of Sauron, and seeing firsthand the devastation of death and the bitter taste of mortality, Legolas was not so quick to disregard his father's sufferings now. And, feeling the sadness roll from his father's _fea,_ Legolas felt his own heart sink in recognition.

"I thought there were none who recovered enough to remain," Legolas carefully picked the words as he glanced around the room, searching for the copper haired elleth. He may have been a little harsh in his assessment of her and he felt a twinge of guilt, if she was one of them then she deserved his compassion and not his stupid misinformed judgements. An apology was in order, and he made a mental note to offer it as soon as possible.

"She would not leave," Thranduil sighed, shaking his head in concern as he backed up into the armchair Orophiel had recently vacated, beckoning his son to sit with him. "She was frightened, and I could not blame her. Would you leave the only people that have ever shown you care to cross a strange sea? Orophiel could not console her, and I could not promise her that safety lay beyond these shores…I cannot even know this for myself? If anything befell her I would not forgive myself, so I relented, I let her stay, but my halls are no place for her."

"And you think Ithilien is? Adar, there is no place suitable for her but the undying lands…she is one of the ruined!" Legolas cringed as the words left his lips, it was so horrible to imagine an elf as ruined, but that is what they were.

The ruined; broken, mangled, creatures that were once innocent elves, who were pulled from the pits of a desiccated Dol Guldur by his people in the aftermath of the war. None could tell what torture they had suffered at the hands of evil, but it was evident they were merely experiments. Thranduil had believed that some kind of ancient dark magic of Morgoth had been employed to try and make a new strain of orc, but its potency was unpredictable and clearly Sauron had never truly perfected the art. Well, at least now he never would but that meant little to the victims - nameless elves, probably presumed dead from the long years of raids and death. As far as Legolas knew, most of these poor souls had simply succumbed to their torment, to far gone to be revived by elven healing. Those who did were not much better off, some had simply went mad from the torture of their spirits and chose to simply give up their life than suffer further. Of the few that struggled on, despite their various scars, no contentment could have been found on these shores, and so it was arranged they would take the ships West, in the hope the Valar would take pity on their plight and restore their innocence. His Aunt had overseen this particular journey, and Legolas had half expected Orophiel to leave with them, for the darkness over Arda had long since haunted her. Yet she remained, and deep down he knew it was probably because of he and his father that she did…they were all she had in the world. He could understand her willingness to postpone such decisions, he too felt the same way.

"She is strong, that young one," Thranduil mused aloud, gently rousing Legolas from his thoughts and reminding him that there was indeed a serious conversation to be had. "She has scant memories of her life before her captivity, she is barely an adult, so I have assumed her innocence has sustained her…maybe her lack of maturity prevented them from her harming her as much as they did the others." Thranduil paused, his face pulling into a disgusted snarl at the memory of seeing so many of his kin so twisted, the image would forever be brandished in his memory. He suppressed an involuntary gag, and squashed the oncoming grief behind his usually stoic mask. There was little point in letting the memories consume him now, he was not the one affected by such brutality but he could do something about it, and for little Lainiel he would.

"You want me to welcome her here?" Legolas questioned, his head moving slowly from side to side as he considered all the implications of such actions. "Adar, that is not a wise idea…what could we offer her? We have not the time or resources to care for one so vulnerable as she."

"Lainiel, that is her name," Thranduil began diplomatically, "Lainiel is not vulnerable, she does not need constant care. She is intelligent, quick to learn and quick to offer her help, she has a wonderful voice and a quiet despoliation, I cannot imagine her being of much trouble to you Legolas. I thought this fair city of yours was to provide a new beginning for those earnestly seeking it?"

"That is unfair, you know I would not turn her away," Legolas answered stiffly, attempting to hold onto the threads of his patience. "I only meant that Lainiel may be overwhelmed here, she has obviously become accustomed to your care and attentions but I am afraid I do not have the luxury of an established home just yet. She can certainly stay, but I cannot promise her my time nor can I promise her the care of healers, she would need to be sure she could fend for herself."

"Well, why don't we ask her ourselves," Thranduil suggested and inclined his head towards the door, giving a soft sigh as he did so; "It is alright Lainiel, you do not to hide from my son he is usually the more understanding of the two of us."

A second passed before Legolas noticed the flecks of red hair as the elf slipped out from the shadows behind a darkened pillar. She looked genuinely terrified as she scanned Legolas' expression for any hint of disapproval, and this realisation made the Prince correct himself. He sat up straighter and painted a passive smile on his now softened face, becoming acutely aware of his position and how it seemed to directly effect everyone in the room…oh he was not cut out for this ruling malarkey, he would much have preferred a healer or someone with skill to deal with this.

"Good morning Lainiel," Legolas greeted as smoothly as he could, and gestured for the elleth to join them, which she timidly did with no complaint. "My apologies for my gruff treatment of you earlier, I was just a little taken by surprise…I was not expecting my father to visit for some weeks yet."

"I understand, there is no need for apologies my lord" Lainiel replied in her breathy tone, that barely seemed to waver above a whisper. She ducked her head into her chest and clenched her hands before her on her lap, fidgeting with the sleeves of her dress so that they pulled right down over her knuckles.

An awkward silence descended on the room, as the two elven royals seemed intent on waiting on the other to start the conversation. Lainiel presumed that it would do her no good to speak up, for she reckoned appearing desperate would not help her plea that she was quite stable. The last thing she wanted was to offend the King, for his generosity to her had been so overwhelming that she reckoned she would never find a way to repay him and his people, but in truth she did not want to return to his Kingdom…to caves, and to the memories of a forest that once housed her nightmares. She also did not want to be forced to take the ships, for she feared the unknown, and to take such a journey alone without the guidance of those she had learned trust…well she could admit that she was a coward in that respect. What she wanted was a fresh start, a new place to explore and create happy memories, and Ithilien seemed a good a place as any. All she needed to do was prove she was useful, and not _ruined…_ and so she was pinning all her last hopes on the woodland prince. Hoping that he might just see past her problems, her scars, and her obvious oddities, and just give her that chance…just one little chance…that was all she needed.

"Can you wield an axe Lainiel?"

The question took her off guard, but she jerked her head upwards to lock eyes with the Prince nonetheless. She seen no jesting in his brilliantly blue eyes - so much brighter than hers could ever be - so she knew this was no trick question. Lainiel knew better than to look to the King for a silent guidance, his features were always so unreadable and she lamented the absence of his more empathetic sibling, so instead she carefully read the depths of Legolas' gaze. He was kind, she could tell in the softness of his spirit, but he had known great hurt…he carried a pain that she did not know…she had seen that similar pain mirrored in his father's eyes. Despite his earlier misplaced gruffness, Lainiel knew without a doubt, that she had no need to fear this one. He was maybe a little apprehensive, a little unsure of what to do with the likes of her, but he was willing to give her the beginnings of that chance she so greatly desired.

"Yes…at least I can try," Lainiel heard herself answer without hesitation, and to her utter relief a slow but deliberate smile spread across the Prince's features as he formulated his answer for her;

"Good, because I have a dwarf who requires help in preparing some timber for building…welcome to Ithilien Lady Lainiel. I cannot promise it will be entirely comfortable, but its home if you so wish it to be."

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 **For reference this is a fourth age fic - set just after Legolas has taken on his role in Ithilien, building his elven colony, and coming to terns with all the changes.**

 **Lainiel is pronounced - Lane - ee - elle - it translates to "free daughter"**

 **Orophiel is pronounced - Oro - fe - elle - is literally a play on Oropher who would be her and Thranduil's deceased father. She is not married, and never has been and has no children but is quite attached to Legolas.**


	3. 2 Shadows in Dark Corners

**2\. Shadows in Dark Corners**

It became clear quite quickly, that the Woodland Prince was not at all jesting when he had said he did not have time to offer Lainiel. She was also certain that he had no intentions of over-indulging her, or maybe it was not that he desired to not make her feel unwelcome, but simply he was unsure exactly how to treat her. Much like many of the elves she had come in contact with since her reintroduction to society, he seemed to look upon her with a measure of sympathy coupled with uncertainty. However, unlike the majority there was no fear in his reactions towards her, he certainly was not panicked or remotely concerned that she could be dangerous. She was not dangerous, at least not by her own assessment, and she certainly was not dangerous with an axe.

Rubbing the ache in her shoulders, Lainiel winced as she observed the clumsy and crude tool in her failing grip. Her hands ached, and blisters were beginning to form along the soft unused skin of her palms. Cuts sliced through her skinned knuckles and splinters had wedged uncomfortably into her fingers and grubby hands. She had been throwing her weight and all of her strength into this wood cutting exercise since the crack of dawn, refusing to take a break or rest until she had at least something reasonable to show for her efforts. Her gaze floated over the pile of timber she had accumulated and she felt her lips form into a dissatisfied pout - it was not much of an effort.

The chopped wood was uneven, badly cut, damaged in some places, rough and not nearly as clean as the other serval piles surrounding hers. The dwarves that she worked beside were quiet and for the most part disinterested in her presence, barely speaking or offering any kind of advice, merely grunting or sharing an amused snicker between them at her expense. With a slight groan and another hiss at the ache in her hands, Lainiel pushed away the lengths of her hair that fallen about her face, and attempted gripping her axe again.

"Lassie, when did you last eat?"

Lainiel frowned, instantly dropping out of her stance and staggering forward, for she unable to hold the axe aloft for any length of time without it causing her muscles to scream in burning protest. She let out a soft yelp as she felt the cut skin of her knuckles stretch and nip painfully. Once she had gathered herself, Lainiel glanced at the broad shouldered dwarf that was ambling resolutely towards her, his sparkly eyes seemed to be appraising her with no small amount of annoyance, and abruptly she wracked her brains to think of what she might have mistakenly done that would have upset the dwarf so.

"Lass?" Gimli repeated again, his furry red brows pulling so closely together that they nearly met in the middle. "Have you taken a break at all?"

Lainiel shook her head, more of her strawberry locks falling loose from the unravelling bun atop her head. Her chest heaved from exertion, and again she was bitterly reminded of her weakness. Gimli gruffly shook his head too, and clamped his strong arms across his burly chest. Lainiel marvelled at the power these small but draughty people seemed to exude, even their women were hardy of body, with tough skin and strong hands.

"Right, away with ye miss," Gimli huffed as he held out his dirt stained palm to receive her axe, "I do not want to see you back here…on with ye and go eat something!"

"Did I do something wrong sir?" Lainiel queried, her face filling with a great disappointment as she clutched the axe tightly. "Please sir, I can try harder. If the timber is not to standard I can work as long as you need…I can learn…I promise."

Gimli felt his eyes widen at the term 'sir' it felt a little formal, and something he half expected to be used in the presence of his father. He almost chuckled at the elleth Legolas had cumbered him with, but something caught him from doing so. When he looked into her eyes he saw panic, as if she thought she had somehow let him down…or maybe she felt she had let her lord down? If that was the case the dwarf was going to have to have to have word with his pointy eared friend. The last thing Legolas wanted was to get himself a name for being grumpy task master - Aule forbid, Arda did not require another ElvenKing.

"Lainiel, that is yer name miss?" Gimli asked as he still persisted in holding out his hand for the axe. The elleth nodded, and reluctantly handed back her well worn tool. "Well, Lainiel, tell me why you would think you did something wrong? Have I not got the timber I require?"

"I…I, well I…erm," Lainiel struggled over her words, and silently considered that maybe she was too quick to plead with the dwarf. Oh she could curse her desperation, for she was so frightened that she could not earn her keep here. The Prince had asked her to work with the dwarf in the timber yards, and yet again it was something she did not excel at. If Legolas saw no place for her he would be within his rights to send her back with the King, and if the King still felt so inclined he could insist she took those dreaded ships…nobody seemed to want her. Was it true? Was there no place for her in Arda?

"Lassie, you have worked well indeed, too good in truth," Gimli cut through Lainiel's silent struggle and offered her a kindly smile. "I fear I have neglected ye, ye need to take care of yourself Lainiel. Ye will be in more pain in the morning, just look at yer hands lass. Go get something to eat, and make sure someone looks at those hands."

"Yes sir," Lainiel mumbled as she inspected her worn hands, considering that this pain was nothing.

This pain was good - it felt worthwhile - this pain made her stronger instead of weaker. She realised, much to her shock, that others would maybe not understand why she didn't seem bothered with simple cuts and bruises from a hard days work. When her body ached or felt pushed to its limits because she had consented to it, because her will had forced it too, then she felt like she was in control and that she was living instead of another dictating her pain and struggle to her. Unless that simple right is stripped from someone, then they couldn't possibly understand her, so Lainiel made a mental note to be more considerate of others deposition. She had upset the dwarf, he thought it was his fault, but truthfully she had the offer to not work so hard. If she was allowed to come back again to tomorrow, Lainiel promised that she would be more mindful of her stubborn actions.

Bidding Gimli a grateful farewell, the admittedly tired elleth, began her long amble back to her host's grand stone home. She took the opportunity on her way back to map out significant landmarks, learning her way, trying to decide if there were quicker routes she could take to the timber yards or the treetop colony. When she had eventually struggled to the top of the small hill, were her Lord's house overlooked the luscious and lit up treetops, Lainiel felt her heart tighten in her chest. Her eyes filled with wonder, glowing like the starlit lamps that hung from the various obscured elvish homes in the trees. Pausing for a long moment, she felt her heart begin to wish and yearn for such a life. Someday, somehow she would have a little home of her own and maybe, if Illuvator had not completely forgotten about her, she could be lucky enough to fill it with the sounds of family. For she had learnt family had many sounds, and many shapes, even the King's quiet family and energy that she envied…though ti seemed barely discussed there was definitely love there. Even just an ounce of that love - if she could just touch it for a moment - would seem like an immeasurable amount to one such as her… _ruined._

 _xXx_

Orophiel sipped elegantly at the clay cup of sweet tea a servant had presented her with, and as she did she observed her brother over the rim of the delicate cup. She watched as he circled the low table in the centre of the room, his face drawn into a frown, and his jaw clenching and unclenching like he was having some kind of inner argument Purposefully, she thumped the cup down as hard as was reasonable on the wooden mantle of the fireplace. The action earned her a disgruntled glare, but she merely tittered softly in response.

"I assume your son's stab at managing a colony is falling short of your ideals brother?" Orophiel asked, as she sidled up to the table and gestured to the numerous reports and ledgers littering the surface.

"Not his ideals, but maybe more his complete lack of organisation," Thranduil grumbled and lifted a handful of messy papers, all ear marked and stained with running ink. "How does he function like this? How does this place function? Ai, he is an idealist…a foolish idealist, just like-"

"His Naneth?" Orophiel offered, and watched her brother's shoulders sag. "She never did agree with your paranoid isolationist ideals Thranduil, is it a surprise to you that Legolas is just as stubborn, just as free-spirited and determined to make a difference?"

"And where did her beliefs find her, Orophiel?" Thranduil murmured sadly his eyes leaving his sister's to stare mournfully into the distance, reliving the horror yet again. "I let her go, I let her go so she could try and make her differences…and she never came home. I let my child go and he came home, but sometimes when he looks at me I sense that he wishes he never did. Maybe I should admit that I have lost him too. I should return home, and let him live his life in peace, instead of trying to wedge myself into it again…like I have the right to."

"Thranduil, hush," Orophiel sighed as she reached to soothingly stroke her brother's shoulder. "You cannot expect decades of hurt to be forgiven in a few days. Legolas adores you just as much as he did when he was an elfling…he just needs time and your patience. He does not need you to show up and start pointing out his flaws and weaknesses in leadership, he does not need you trying to parent him when he has already learned to stand on his own two feet. This is his time, his decisions, just like it was yours when Ada passed. Remember how hard and all consuming it was…remember when you doubted yourself and Ada's advisors tried you, and you thought for certain you would be the ruin of our great Kingdom?"

"I remember," Thranduil chuckled and batted his sister's hand away. "I also remember you telling me you could do a much better job, and how utterly ridiculous I looked in a crown."

"Ah yes, well I was young," Orophiel grinned teasingly, her eyebrow arching slightly, "but that is a little sister's job Thranduil…and did I not make you work harder to prove me wrong?"

"I am still trying to prove you wrong," Thranduil rolled his eyes, clasping his sisters hands in his. "I know I am gruff and impatient with you Orophiel, but you know I would lost be without. After Elrien was…taken from me…I could never have survived without you."

"Awk now, my lord," Orophiel teased and yanked her hands away from her brother's grasp. "You are taking foolishness, you are weary…go rest before you say something altogether ridiculous…like how I am the most wonderful sister in all of Arda."

"I would never make such a comment, at least not if I wanted to suffer your intolerable gloating for another several hundred years," Thranduil smirked, narrowly ducking to avoid being slap around the head by his suddenly irked sibling.

"My intolerable gloating?" Orophiel half laughed in her astonishment and picked her way back across the lounge, collecting her teacup and waving her long elegant hand flippantly in the air; "I shall make no comment on the matter brother, other than…goodnight and sweet dreams."

"Good night," Thranduil called as he watched her slip out of the door. He waited a few moments, until he heard the click of a door lock, before he whispered quietly; "my most wonderful sister."

The returning silence was testament to his inability to say what he should, to the ones he loved, when they deserved to hear it. Thranduil felt he was always whispering his love into the shadows of his family. He found it a great struggle to speak such sentiment to them while in their presence, not because he did not feel it or because he was particularly immature with his emotions, but because he felt much too deeply. To simply say those things - in meaningless words that fell short of his actual thoughts - never seemed to be enough to convey how he felt. From he was old enough to comprehend love, or family, or loyalty, he had decided words were useless in expression of these things and that actions spoke considerably louder. He showed his people how he cared by being strong, by never cracking under the extremes of the world they lived in, by carrying on and finding away through even when it seemed there was no light in the dark. He thought he had shown his family the same ideals; he thought by providing, by being their strength, by always ensuring they had everything they would ever require, was enough to express his love…he now understood the flaw in such a theory. Sadly, Thranduil could not begin to start being so verbally appreciative of his family without them thinking he was entirely not genuine in this words, or that he had lost his mind completely. He was certain Legolas must have thought him quite mad.

"Look, I do not want a lecture…I am tired!"

Thranduil stiffened, taking a large step back from the table and locking his hands behind his back, the King blinked innocently at the disgruntled form of his son. Legolas had entered by the farthest door, his gait was heavy, his clothes worn and dusty, and he seemed irked…very irked.

"I was just…organising some the paperwork for you," Thranduil answered rather shrilly, considering the absurdity of being spoken to like a disobedient servant. But this was not his Kingdom, and these were not his people, he had no right to pry and he constantly wearied of telling himself this.

"Yes, well it is not necessary," Legolas huffed as he stalked across the room, and began hastily shoving the paper into sloppy piles. "You are a guest…you do not have to concern yourself."

"I was only trying to help," Thranduil offered innocently, with a twitch of his eye at Legolas' archiving technique. "You should make use of me while I am here, you could let me instruct the archivists on the most efficient manner in which to file legal documents, or, I could take over some of it for you. Just for a little while of course, just to keep entertained-"

"Ada!" Legolas growled, ripping a piece of parchment that his father still clung to behind his back, "stop!"

"Oh stop being so defensive son," Thranduil chuckled half heartedly, "I am not trying to steal your glory."

"No, no you do not get to flounce in here and rearrange everything! I have managed perfectly well up until now, and I will continue to do so… _without you!_ " Legolas had not intended to be put so much emphasis on the end of his statement, and he shuffled uncomfortable at the sight of his father's eyes widening in the briefest flash of hurt. "Ada," he started a little more tactfully, "I did not mean-"

"I understand," Thranduil answered coolly, waving the palm of his hand in front of his son in an almost dismissive manner. "Any offence was unintentionally, it was a mere suggestion, forgive me for being so forward." And with that statement, Legolas watched as his father exited the room in that familiar distant manner he had become accustomed. Only this time the prince felt it was maybe a fault of his own, rather than his father's usual temperament.

Legolas stood stalk still and silent for a few moments longer than was deemed normal behaviour, before he shrugged his shoulders and filled his arms with the rest of his files. There was very little point in worrying over a misunderstanding between he and his father, their entire lives together had been one mammoth misunderstanding. He loved his father, truly he did, almost to the point were it hurt to think of a life without him, but it was no secret that the two of them always seemed to be on completely different pages…sometimes even whole books apart, if Legolas was being honest. With a weary sigh, he picked his way through the lounge and decided he would take these ledgers home to study. He was far to tired to skulk about these halls all evening, at least in the tops of the trees he could gain a bit of fresh air and clarity. Also, there was less chance of running into his beloved Aunt, who would undoubtedly have something to say about their altercation, if he retreated now.

Hurrying along the hallways, in his usual silent and stealthy fashion, Legolas was just about ready to sigh with relief at his freedom when he ran into another soundless creature.

There was a _yelp_ , a dull _thud,_ and the whisper of many leaves of paper floating carelessly around the moonlit corridor.

If centuries of war - and general misadventure with a certain ranger - had taught Legolas anything, it was that anybody that could be as swift and quiet as he was, was definitely not to be trusted! It took him less than a second to regain his footing and seize the intruder by their slender arm, pulling them from the ground as he did. It was the painful groan that alerted him first to the fact that he knew this quiet little mouse.

"Lainiel?" Legolas gasped, as he studied the mop of coppery hair that was messily strewn about the elleth's face. Two charcoal eyes stared worriedly up at him, as her shoulders seemed to touch her ears in her timorous state…a mouse was an apt description for the girl.

"I-I-I…am s-s-orry," Lainiel stuttered, seeming to flinch away in the expectation of a rebuff. Her cringing suggested that she was expecting to be assaulted, and obviously quite severely by the looks of it. Legolas sighed, his eyes softening in pity for the little creature, barely a shadow of what she was supposed to be. Automatically he loosened his grip and gently rubbed her arm, smiling a little in his attempt to reassure her.

"No harm done," Legolas replied cheerily, his head tilting to the side in concern; "What are you doing running about here, should you not be having supper in the common rooms, or doing something more sociable than hiding in dark corners?"

"I really do not know much else but hiding in dark corners," Lainiel replied with a rough laugh, her shoulders sagging miserably. It was the shocked look on the Prince's face that caused her to blush and slap her hand over her mouth in embarrassment, for she had not meant to be so crass.

Legolas watched as her eyes filled with horror at her mishap, the shame of it crippling her already floundering confidence. He cleared his throat, considering that he was probably should have been more tactful with his choice of words; "Yes, well that is a habit we will have to try and break…it might be considered a little strange around here."

"Yes my lord," Lainiel muttered quietly, twisting and rubbing her painful fingers together nervously as she glanced skittishly around her. If he was not going to reprimand her then she really wanted to be on her way.

"What is wrong with your hands?" Legolas asked suddenly, causing Lainiel to literally leap away from hum and shove her blood stained knuckles into the pockets of her worn tunic.

"Nothing!" She quipped far too quickly earning her a disbelieving snort from her superior, who was now outstretching his hand for hers, she took another step back; "it is nothing, truly my lord…I-I-I…um…" It was much to late for Lainiel to deceive Legolas, for he had seen hands like that before. Gently he tugged one of her hands free and pulled her tender fingers up to examine them more carefully, the common place gesture causing Lainiel more embarrassment than she was capable of hiding as two red blotches coloured her cheeks.

"I thought you said you could use an axe?" Legolas asked calmly, as he softly ran his thumb over the abused skin.

"I can…I did…I just am not strong enough yet my lord, do not worry my skin has to become tougher…it is not even… _ow_ -" Lainiel flinched and tugged her hand back, hissing a little at the stinging sensation, "that hurt!"

"Good…it will teach you not to lie to me next time," Legolas chuckled, a teasing glint flashing across those guarded eyes that Lainiel had decided were almost akin to the blue of a summers day…such warmth. "Lainiel, next time I set you a task please do not feel you need to work very fingers to the bone."

"I did not want you to think I was lazy," Lainiel mumbled as she rubbed the ache in her palms again, "I do not want to be burden my lord."

"Legolas…please, for the sake of my sanity…call me Legolas, _lord_ implies I have disillusions of grandeur," Legolas sighed wearily, his hands raised in a peaceful gesture towards the trembling girl. There was nothing he loathed more than being in a position that made others crumple before him, as if they were his to command as he wished, as if he had no compassion for them. The elleth before him seemed utterly confused by his statement, and as Legolas opened his mouth to attempt to explain himself he thought better of it - exactly how could some like she see him as anything but a superior to her? With a sigh and roll of his eyes he tilted his head back towards his grand stone house; "Come…help me pick these documents up…and then we will get those hands seen to."

"Yes my lo-"

Legolas snapped his head to the side, and gave the girl a warning look. Lainiel quickly bit her lip and suppressed a small smile mouthing an apology, as she slipped to the ground and began carefully lifting up the disarray sheets. She watched on quietly as the King's son crawled about the floor picking up after his own disaster with barely a frustrated look or grumble coming from him. He was a high born lord and a hero to his people, yet all that seemed lost on him. He did not hold himself like any King, he was fast and light on his feet, and his eyes were connastntly flickering like he was absorbing everything. Lainiel could not help but register a similarity between them, it was just a passing observation on her part, but like herself, Legolas always seemed to be expecting a blow from somewhere. She could not help but wonder what made him that way, what left him so haunted, and was he just as acquainted with dark corners as she was?

* * *

 **A/N: Uh Oh...Lainiel is noticing stuff...that boy's eyes XD**

 **Sorry for the delay in updating guys but I am writing quite a bit these days in my different arenas...so when the inspiration strikes I try to get it down as quick as I can. Anyway THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE LOVE YOU GUYS! Honestly was not expecting it, but truly i means so much especially when I try something different. As per my usual tradition, thank you to;**

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